Winter Nights
by fang1rl
Summary: She wants to turn back around. Run back into his strong, comforting arms and sink into the warmth, the familiarity of it all. But instead she just wraps her coat tighter around herself, sinks her neck a little lower into her scarf, and pushes on through the night.


**Disclaimer:** **I don't own Castle.**

She wants to turn back around. Run back into his strong, comforting arms and sink into the warmth, the familiarity of it all. But instead she just wraps her coat tighter around herself, sinks her neck a little lower into her scarf, and pushes on through the night, right foot in front of the left, left foot in front of the right. Just keep walking, Kate. Just keep walking.

He wants to run. Open up his door and travel down the elevator and run into the cold night in search of her. He can see himself stopping outside the door of his building, standing still on the spot but searching frantically with his eyes. Seeing the snippet of her red coat in the crowd, yelling out her name and sprinting towards her. She stops, turns around, realising how stupid this all is and comes back towards him, back into his arms, finally.  
But instead he just turns around from the door, refusing to face it. He sinks onto the couch and lets his head fall into his hands.

She shuts her door behind her. This is so, so stupid. There's not even a point to it all. So she stayed at his place for a few nights, a few weeks. So what? Two weeks essentially living at the loft, only stopping in at her apartment twice to pick up clothes, necessities. It had all been so peaceful, so perfect, so domestic. She honestly never wanted their little bubble to pop, never wanted it to end. So she ended it.

What was she thinking?

He doesn't understand. He thought it had all been going so well. In hindsight, maybe he pushed her too hard. There were some days he had almost forced her to stay- well, he had persuaded her using methods he knew she couldn't say no to. Couldn't say anything to, actually. Still, he can't think of any justifiable reason for her leaving. Leaving like this, anyway.

* * *

She thinks back to earlier in the evening. They had been watching the news. Nothing particularly interesting happening, there were no murders (she had the night off anyway) and they were slumped together on the couch. As soon as she had plopped down next to him she had lifted her legs up and thrown them over his, and it wasn't long before his hands had found his way to her feet and he was almost subconsciously massaging them. It was then that she had realised how comfortable they had become, how comfortable she had become in the relationship. And she had started to question it. Question how fast they were moving. She was all too quickly sinking into the familiarity of it all, and unlike her usual act she was putting her entire self into it. She wanted to be there, she didn't want to hold back, to keep one foot out the door. And that wasn't safe. Because the logical part of her brain was telling her to run, get out before she got hurt. So she did.

She quickly detached herself from the situation, got up from the couch and made some bullshit excuse as to why she had to leave. It was so clear that she was running away. She could see Castle's mind attempting to process it all, the fast change in mindset, the ways she wouldn't meet his eyes.

"Why?" He had asked, not even trying to keep the pleading tone out of his voice.

"I just need to go home for awhile. I'll call you, 'kay?"

He stepped towards her. She stepped back and turned around towards the door, pulling her coat on.

"Kate."

She opened the door and as she glanced back, he leant forward and kissed her. It was urgent, pleading, fast, frustrated. He was trying to pull her back in, make her see some sense. She almost, almost succumbed to it. But then she pulled away, red and blushing and shy and awkward. And then she kissed him on the cheek and walked out the door, down the elevator and into the harsh coldness of the night.

* * *

He picks up his phone.  
He puts it back down.

Is this a fight?

She sinks into the bath. But it doesn't feel right without him crowding around her, without him holding her to him and cleaning her and then getting her dirty in his own way and then cleaning her all over again. She sighs. Nothing feels right without him.  
She realises then that she's too far gone. She's fallen so deeply into this that she won't ever be able to get out. She knows. She's always known. And now she's gone and fucked it up again with her petty insecurities. Good one, Kate. She hastily pulls herself out of the bath.

She has to fix this.

He's sat at his desk. Attempted to write. Moved to the kitchen. Attempted to eat. Its been two hours and he craves company. Craves _her_. He sits for another ten minutes until it all becomes too much and he decides that No, this time she's not running away. This time he's chasing her. He gets his coat and slips his phone in his pocket before he heads out the door to find her.

To fix this.

* * *

She steps out into the cold night air again, this time with a driving purpose. She' not running away, she's running to. And she feels her cheeks get brighter as the cool, wintery air hits her skin and her hair is a mess and she knows she must look awful but she doesn't care. She ventures further out and calls a cab over, giving the driver the address before she settles back into the seat and thinks about what she'll do when she gets there. What she'll say. How she'll apologise. And the cab is taking too long and she misses him and its been two hours Kate, get a grip, but she wants him and she _need__s_ him and the cab is taking way too long.

He's called a cab over, opened the door and he's about to slip in and give the driver Kate's address when he hears his name being called.

"Castle!" She's coming towards him and she looks so damned beautiful with her hair tangled around her face and cheeks slightly pink, coloured by the wintery chill of the air. She reaches him and she looks up at his face with so many emotions running across her face. She's scared, embarrassed, hopeful.

He's so, so relieved. He doesn't say anything, just cups her cheek in his hand and pulls her face towards his.  
He kisses her and its reassuring, its forgiving, its everything.

She's an idiot and she knows it, because every time something goes wrong she runs away and he pulls her right back in. But she's so thankful for it, for his understanding because this is why she waited so long before she gave herself to him, and this is why she slightly parts her lips underneath his and lets his tongue explore her mouth, drawing him in. Her hands wind up and wrap around his neck and his hands slide lightly underneath her shirt. The kiss is filled with thankyous and I'm sorrys and she wants to tell him how he's everything she's ever wanted but she doesn't know how to say it without sounding like a sappy freak, so she just kisses him deeper. She quietly moans into his mouth and as soon as she's made that sound there's nothing he can do except intertwine their fingers and lead her back towards his door. She doesn't mind. She'll stay there forever.

The cabbie grins at the pair, taking the hint and drives off into the night.


End file.
